


The Sweetness Rising

by fits_in_frames



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-12
Updated: 2008-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1498762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fits_in_frames/pseuds/fits_in_frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And Peter, of course, is Nathan's best man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sweetness Rising

**Author's Note:**

> _i twist like a corkscrew_  
>  _the sweetness rising_  
>  _i drink from the bottle, weeping_  
>  _why won't you last_  
>  _why can't you last_  
>  {rufus wainwright // foolish love}  
> 
> 
> Minor spoilers for "The Kindness of Strangers". Inspired by [these idiots](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v625/kellist85/adrianspam/Heroes2x04_1004.jpg).

Nathan marries Heidi in a little church in Hartsdale. It's a relatively small wedding, by Petrelli standards--no third cousins, just a few second ones, some Navy buddies, one or two sorority sisters--but it's still a pretty big deal.

And Peter, of course, is Nathan's best man.

(Nathan asked him before he even proposed--pulled him into an empty hallway, showed him the ring, told him how much it would mean--but it wasn't even a question to Peter. It was a given in his life that he would stand up for his big brother, so he stopped the words before they were all out and sealed it with a kiss.)

So he does everything the best man is supposed to do--helps with the tuxedo fittings, keeps the rings safe, makes sure Nathan gets to the hotel okay. Nathan smiles at him, runs his thumb along his jaw when no one's looking, but there are so many people bustling in and out for months beforehand, great-aunts and lawyer-friends--so Peter is okay with the ache in the back of his throat, because he knows that once the right moment comes around, Nathan will be all his.

He plans the bachelor party for weeks, making sure every detail is perfect--one stripper with red hair and a police uniform, three rounds of tequila shots (because Nathan can drink a bottle of wine and drive home, but he gets loopy if there's tequila in the same room), and gag gifts aplenty. He plans it so he'll have to walk his tequila-laden brother upstairs when they get back; because he's the best man, he's the only one who can take care of him. It's all going to work, and he'll have Nathan and this stupid silence between them will be broken.

And then, the morning of the day before the wedding, they wake up to two feet of snow, and it's all ruined.

"It's okay," Nathan says at breakfast, draping an arm across Peter's shoulders. "We'll just go to the bar, have a few rounds."

"Yeah," Peter says as he finishes off the last of his bacon and eggs. Nathan's hand is warm, and he shakes it off before he can't anymore. He goes back up to the room he's sharing with Nathan's friend Steve and doesn't see his brother or his future sister-in-law until dinner, where Dad makes a toast to them. Peter raises his glass along with everyone else, but the champagne never even hits his tongue.

An hour later, everyone who was supposed to be getting a lap dance tonight trudges down to the bar. One of their cousins comments on the snow, but as soon as Peter gives him the most dejected look he can muster up, no one mentions it again. Peter can't even buy the drinks--he's only 19--but Nathan takes him aside, tells him it's okay, he'll order everything. Peter thanks him, but still feels like the worst best man ever.

The first round is beer--expensive beer, from Germany, not the dollar-a-can stuff Peter's friends drink on Saturday nights. Nathan's sitting next to him, of course, and their thighs are touching constantly, and Peter's going crazy. Nathan strategically places his bottle between them on the table, and only drinks about half of it, leaving the rest for Peter while the others order their second drinks. Peter gulps it down greedily, wanting to wash all the feelings out of his chest, out of his head, and then they all come back with the next few rounds. Nathan continues to drink only half of what's put in front of him, nudging his bottles towards Peter when he's not drinking, and Peter grabs a few sips each time--until Nathan comes back from the bar and tries to sit down and slips, nearly falling on his ass. He holds his head and stands up, stumbles towards the bathroom. Peter, who has a clear head despite his efforts otherwise, follows him, hooks an arm under both of his, guides him into the men's room. Peter starts to lead him into a stall when he's suddenly shoved up against the wall, next to the paper towel dispenser, and Nathan's face is less than an inch away. Peter lunges forward and devours his mouth, tasting beer and Nathan and even a little of himself, and Nathan kisses him back, eventually dragging his lips, wet and sloppy, over to Peter's ear.

"I'm not really drunk," he whispers, "I just want to get the hell out of here."

Peter nods, swallows, as Nathan sucks on his earlobe. "Okay," he gasps. "Okay."

Nathan kisses him again--a quick, teasing kiss, a little swipe of tongue along his bottom lip--and then walks towards the door, stops, turns around.

"C'mon, Pete," he says, holding out an arm. "You gotta hold me up."

Peter's head is still spinning, partially from the alcohol and partially from Nathan, so it takes him a moment to peel himself off the wall. He walks Nathan out, and as they approach the bar, Nathan turns to dead weight.

"I think the groom-to-be's had enough, guys," he says as Nathan drapes himself all over him. The others moan and complain that they haven't even played a round of "I Never" yet, and Nathan just eggs them on.

"I'm not drunk, Pete," he slurs flawlessly. "I swear."

"Yes, you are," Peter says sternly, ignoring the fact that his voice is on the edge of cracking, "and I need to get you in bed."

So everyone else sighs and goes back up to their rooms (Peter can hear them bemoaning the lack of festivities at all, but he doesn't really give a shit, to be honest), and Peter hauls Nathan to the elevator. A man comes out of nowhere to join them for the ride; he presses 6 and Peter presses 15. Nathan's arm is still slung around his neck, and he can feel Nathan's warm cock pressing against his leg, and every time he looks down at Nathan, he just grins that devilish grin. The man is watching them, so Peter points to Nathan and says, "My brother's getting married tomorrow." The man makes a sound of disapproval, the elevator pings, and he gets out. The doors aren't even closed all the way when Nathan stands on his own and presses their mouths together, snakes his hands up under Peter's shirt.

"I want you," Nathan moans against his cheek. "Inside me."

"You want me to fuck you?" Peter gasps, palming Nathan's cock through the thin material of his slacks. "Is that what you want, Nathan?"

Nathan groans, and Peter takes that as a yes.

They barely make it to the room, stumbling down the hall, trying not to kiss each other, because _Jesus Christ_ , there's family and friends and people they've known since they were born in every room, and what if _Heidi_ saw them, but Nathan's mouth brushes against his cheek and he can't help but turn to it and lick Nathan's lips. Peter holds Nathan's hips, warm, calm, steady, while Nathan fumbles with his room key. He finally unlocks the door and drags Peter in by the waist of his pants, pulling him into a kiss before even turning on the light.

"God, Pete," he whispers into the dark. "God."

Peter reaches around him and flicks the light switch on, pausing to tongue at his neck on the way back. The wallpaper is this awful, gaudy pattern, and it makes Peter's eyes go funny because it's not the same as in his room, or maybe because he's still drunk on his big brother. He tries to ignore it, grabbing a fistful of Nathan's shirt instead, practically shoving him over to the bed as he crushes their mouths together. Nathan falls on his back and spreads his legs and gets that _look_ in his eye, aching with want before he even takes his clothes off. Peter kneels on the floor between his feet and paws at his belt and his fly, not really paying attention to what he's doing and not really caring, because Nathan is arching his back and gritting his teeth and _jesusfuck_ , Peter needs to be inside him right now. But no, no, he's the patient brother, he can wait. Nathan's slacks fall to around his ankles and Peter presses his lips to the inside of Nathan's thigh, right above his knee, steadying himself by digging his fingertips into the flesh of Nathan's thighs. Nathan groans, deep and low in his throat, and Peter rests a hand on his belly, dragging it downwards, tugging at the elastic of on Nathan's briefs as he leaves a trail of wet, nipping kisses up the soft skin of Nathan's thigh. He swipes his tongue against the head of Nathan's swollen, naked cock, then kisses his way down the other leg, dragging the briefs down with him.

"Jesus," Nathan barks out, and Peter quirks his mouth up wickedly before getting his mouth around Nathan's cock.

It's a half-assed blowjob at best--Peter's done better (for the boys in his junior high school locker room, for fuck's sake), but the point is not to make Nathan come, no. The point is to make Nathan _want_ to come, make him want it so bad and then take it away so he begs.

And beg he does. "Oh God, Peter," he says with his mouth; _yes yes yes_ he says with his fingertips tangling in Peter's hair; _never ever stop_ he says with his rocking hips. But Peter does stop, pulls his mouth away and licks a stripe up Nathan's belly, and when he looks up, Nathan looks down and practically growls at him, "So are you gonna fuck me, or what?"

Peter grins despite himself at the fact that his brother--his big brother, usually so poised and eloquent and proper--has a mouth like a horny twenty-year-old when Peter teases him like this. "Yeah," he whispers, shoving his own pants down to his knees, "okay."

So Nathan makes room for him on the bed, and Peter settles in between his thighs, pinning one knee to each of his hips, and he makes sure Nathan is looking at him before he sticks his fingers in his mouth--one, two, three--sucking on them like they were fucking _candy_ , even though they taste like glass bottles and Dial soap. He grips Nathan's cock, lightly running his thumb over the tip, spreading precome and sweat and God knows what else all around, and Nathan practically whimpers at him ( _oh god, please, peter, please please please_ ), and then, slowly, torturously, Peter slides one finger--his middle finger, slick with saliva--into Nathan, who's tight as fuck, and Peter's cock twitches dangerously. His index finger follows, scissors a little, and Nathan moans again wordlessly. Peter leans down to re-lubricate his ring finger, and on the way back up, gets his mouth around one of Nathan's balls, then the other. Nathan grabs his hair and pulls him up to his face and just as he's about to kiss, just as he's about to get the taste of his own skin on his tongue, Peter works his ring finger inside him, and all he can do is groan deep in his chest while his body bucks in on itself involuntarily. "Godyespeteryesohsweetgodyes," he murmurs, seemingly all at once, when he can finally breathe again. Peter slicks himself up with his free hand, and he feels like he's in a porno--a really bad porno, to be honest--but that just makes him want it more, so he works his brother open just a little more, just a little more, and when Nathan tries to groan out his name again, he stops his mouth and swallows it off of the back of Nathan's tongue, and before Nathan even knows his fingers are gone, his cock is in their place.

Nathan is tight--oh God, he's tight--and Peter has to stop himself from coming more times than he'd care to count. He's fucked other guys before, other anonymous strangers with latex around his cock, but with Nathan, without anything between them but a little spit and a little promise, it feels like the first time all over again. He runs his hand, still a little wet from prepping his cock, along the ridges of Nathan's stomach muscles, up over his chest, thumbing at his nipples, until Nathan's fingers grip at his sides (he'll have bruises in the morning, vaguely brown finger-shapes, but he'll be in a tux, so what does it matter, really) and pull him in deeper, and Nathan makes that pathetic, stupid nasally sound that means _want_ in every language Peter can think of. So Peter fucks him, fucks him like he's getting paid, head back, eyes shut, hands on Nathan's knees to keep them apart. It's hot and tight and _dear god_ , Peter wants to come so badly, but he doesn't; he lets Nathan come first, hips bucking up so far that Peter gets some on his chin (and when he leans down to kiss him through the aftershocks, Nathan licks it off). Peter pulls out slowly, slowly, and comes almost immediately, comes on Nathan's belly, on his chest. He nearly falls off the bed when he sits back on his heels, but Nathan catches him reflexively, strong, thick fingers hold him upright as he fucks the air involuntarily, just once.

Peter crawls up onto the bed, sprawls out next to Nathan. They're not breathing in the same rhythm (Nathan's is deeper and slower, Peter's still shallow and quick), but their bodies are humming the same post-coital hum, and he barely even notices when Nathan's arm snakes under his body until his hand is on his shoulder, pulling him closer.

"You should get some sleep," Nathan murmurs into his temple.

"You too," Peter says, brushing his lips against the tendons in Nathan's neck. "Big day tomorrow."

Nathan chuckles softly, the vibrations from his vocal cords tickling Peter's nose. "Yeah, thanks for reminding me."

Peter gets up, gathers his clothes from the floor, pulls them on in quick succession. Nathan's still sprawled out when he's done, arms wide, mischievous grin on his face, so Peter leans over and kisses him, one last time (maybe the last time for a long time, but he pushes that out of his mind), and says _i love you_ with a little dart of his tongue between Nathan's lips.

He leaves before Nathan can get it in his head to call him back.

*

The roads are clear by the next morning, and the wedding goes off without a hitch--flowers and rice and rings--so Peter ignores that lingering twisty feeling in the pit of his stomach that starts when Nathan flashes a smile at him (with his mouth, only his mouth) as Heidi walks down the aisle.

They all pile into limos when it's over, and Nathan of course goes in a different one than he came in. Peter jumps in with the other ushers and can't help but wonder if _I KISSED MY BROTHER ON THE WAY HERE_ is written in the frost on the windows.

Back at the hotel, the photographer is waiting to round up the bridal party. The group shots are first, so the little ones can get something to eat (it's been a long morning, and even Peter's starving). Peter stands behind Nathan and holds one hand to the small of his back. Nathan doesn't swat it away--in fact, Nathan doesn't even seem to notice it's there, he's too wrapped up in putting his arms around Heidi's waist--so Peter leaves it there until they have to separate.

Then the photographer--Lenny, he says his name is--divides them into groups and Peter stands off to the side when he asks for just the bride and groom. And just as he's about to leave, Lenny calls, "What about the groom and the best man, huh?"

Peter's heart is in his throat, but Nathan smiles at him--genuinely this time, with his whole face--and he can't help but give an easy smile back. Two shots in, Lenny has to change his film, so they start talking, heads together.

"I really couldn't've done this without you," Nathan says quietly.

"Yeah," Peter murmurs, swallows, and just as he says, "I love you too," a flash goes off.

"Sorry," the photographer says, not sounding sorry at all. "I thought we could use a few candid shots."

Nathan rolls his eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but when he turns back, grinning, Peter knows everything will be okay.


End file.
